Girls and Wolves
by Calesvol
Summary: When the doors were locked and windows bolted, does chaos loom and tear between them. She's a woman with a wolf bolting after her through the woods, but she's there to hunt him down. It's contention, it's hate and lust, the insatiable and the twisted.


**Warning(s]** : Fairly explicit and violent hatesex, definitely NSFW

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This was no longer a game but a deadly charade that was growing heinously dangerous. The lines of Master and Servant were grievously frayed, but a feral divide was beginning to shred and blur what need be intact. Alucard was becoming a raging storm that even the Iron Maiden was finding difficulty in controlling, a beast that was violently roiling against his leash and gnawing at it with a passion for freedom unprecedented. This had been borne of yet another argument, another heated debacle that was incriminating upon all the ears that fell within range of it. He was a beast, a monster, a reality that he was poignant to reminding her of especially in the lateness of a war that beginning to savagely come to its unveiled epoch. This underground war was frothing and foaming like the rabid dog she was becoming increasingly burdened with.

"Do you honestly think that I will submit so easily in the end, Integra?" Alucard snarled passionately as he was at that familiar place before her desk, talons boring into the woodwork in a way that was becoming uncomfortably routine. She didn't understand it. The monster that had succumbed to monstrosity out of weakness and inability to deal with the burden of humanity had declared often in the past and present of the splendid Human whom would destroy him in the end. And Hellsing had its chock share of them, namely herself whom swore to see this monster to his end. Everything he could want would be in a matter of decades. Freedom for them both from this familial bondage and what kept them on this earth. Death was craved for and yet his change of heart almost disturbed her.

Almost.

"Don't be so bloody proud, Alucard. What, have you decided that the family of your old enemy is no longer fit to finish the job? The task of your eradication, something I find you to be forgetting too often of late," Integra replied coolly, disregarding his passion with a callous turn of cheek–the faint scritch of a fountain pen upon paper enunciating her disinterest. Her voice was strong and commanding, holding its own against the monster's. But the Dragon had too much pride for his own good. If anything, the nail had been struck on its head.

"I want my freedom. There are plenty of humans of worthy stock to end me. If I die, if I cannot contrive a means to survive immortality, it will be by another hand. Your family, this organization, has robbed everything from me! I am nothing and I already have too much of myself unwillingly stolen by you. I won't let that come to pass!"

Oh, she eyed him coldly. Producing a cigar from her lapel pocket, she steadily lit it in her practiced and outwardly decorous way. Fine British control and restraint that had bred such an erudite aristocrat. A knight, a Sir of the Queen's court. Her pride lay in how others regarded and addressed her and this level of insubordination was getting far too out of hand. She knew. Knew too well of those illicit moments of stolen passion were becoming harder and harder to contain. He didn't want her as she'd once thought, rather wanted to defeat her. But in these moments, even she found herself damning the reflexive clench of her thighs and the beginnings of heat pooling in her belly. Just as Alucard was feeling an inappropriate stirring in his loins. They still remembered the abrasive kisses shared, those intangible moments when contention and confrontation rose to a fever pitch that shouldn't exist.

Maybe that's why he was staring too fixedly at her, searching for those mirroring thoughts and rumination that was out to ruin them. She inhales sharply and glowers at him, fingers curling into claws themselves as she envisions herself throttling him, hearing bones crack and what little pulse there was flushing pale skin and bruising it with violet brands. The thought continues and perhaps he can perceive it, can smell the salts and musk of an arousal that shouldn't be.

"What if you gave me my freedom?" It intruded suddenly and she forgot for a moment how close they really were. The desk wasn't as large as it would seem and he'd found her flank, looming over her in a shadow that was a threat here instead of a loyal reassurance. Gloved digits began to sluggishly trail through blonde locks, allowing them to loosely thread and fall. It was too intimate. Far, far too intimate. And she would not lose her resolve, least of all to this monster.

"Your freedom will come when I sever your head, stake your heart, and burn the remains," she snapped at him, nails digging crescents into her skin as she failed to calmly clasp her hands together, even through her own gloves. Her breathing was stertorous and hard, the distance between them becoming far too close. And that was when all seemed lost. Alucard rarely snapped at her, rarely becoming physical, but how he did.

Fingers closed upon her throat as he manhandled her with a singular hand, countenance darkening malevolently as he slammed her to the desk with a clashing snap and splinter of wood. Integra gasped and spat away the cigar before she might somehow choke upon it, one hand clawing at his and the other fervidly searching her suit for her pistol which she procured. Three shots were fired into his skull, dislodging his grip upon her as the woman scrambled to sit upon her own desk, watching with the gun still trained upon him and gasping for breath like a fish.

He stood in momentary suspension with blood splattered upon the ground, though in an instant did he come back far angrier. Integra felt her heart catapult into her throat before she caught him by the throat as he lunged for her. Upon all fours and looming, for a fraction of a second did they lock eyes with one another and she hauled him to crash their lips together. Sexual tension, fury, and unadulterated lust came boiling over as months of this contention came afield of itself. They were barely able to gasp for breath between furious kisses as her vice upon his neck was unyielding. His wounds had healed, but the bruises on his own neck were beginning to manifest.

She was seized in an embrace as closure finally came between their bodies, she clawing at his throat to tear off the cravat about his neck and he shrugging off the duster before frustration simply impelled him to allow mist to evaporate the articles of offending clothing away. They were animistic in this state, beasts tearing away each other's clothing for the simple fact of an attrition coming to this strange and depraved manifestation. His own arousal was straining against him.

Furiously did she capsize their dynamic, vice still upon his neck as he was overturned and beneath her, he grinning wickedly at the woman whilst she snarled in turn. A brutal crack of flesh resonated as she slapped him across the face, enough that a welt would likely result, and he in turn began to use his talons to tear away her clothing. She groaned and her glasses fell from her face as he did, spine arching and likely drawing blood from it. Straddling his lap, grinding into her, it would seem as though he had the upper hand in spite of being the one beneath.

Integra wrenched him close for a harsh collision of lips, cloth beginning to shed from her bronzed flesh like a molting coat, feathers from a proud eagle compared to the dragon. Their pelvises gnashed like fangs together and the woman spoke low threats through their kisses, fingers digging into his flesh to draw blood evocative of low, rumbling chuckles that sounded in dark amusement. The welt on his cheek was beginning to fade, favorable to him, but she wouldn't let him escape this unscathed.

"You will remain beneath me, Servant," she gasped harshly, brows furrowing with a ferocious and feral lust almost eclipsing his own prevalent in her eyes. Roiling like a sea beneath her, he laughed ironically but made no effort to rebut or top her again. Let her believe she had power in this. Sex was about power, wasn't it? And power was never without deceit to attain or allude to it.

With his gloves and shirt gone, boots remaining, his brutal scarring was prevalent to her. She took one of his hands, all before she made him suck on her own fingers, forcing him to watch. "These marks upon you, the stigmata and Cromwell Seals that will remain with you–never forget who made them, Alucard. Humans did this to you. And just as they branded and made of servant of you, as easily will your life be taken away–by me. Because you are mine and your life is forfeit to me." Her words are cool and a small smirk, damnably smug. However, it falls and becomes a possessive and fierce glower once more. The look of a woman who clearly owned him. The look of a conqueror who would not allow him to succeed from her will.

With her top still very much intact, Integra manually undid her own trousers, slapping any attempts from Alucard to assist away. He was her bitch and she would fuck him however she pleased. Even if it should have never come to this. But, she would make what she could from this.

It wasn't long before she worked his member inside her womanhood, he thrusting into her vengefully and with fierceness still upon his visage. But she rode him just as hard, as though a contest of will even though his neck was still in her vice and his hands allowed only to he perch upon her hips. The wet slap of skin as she perspired became a metronome to them both, never allowing herself to groan and biting her tongue if the temptation ever arose. Nay, fallibility. Even Alucard, already one to never be noisy during sex, restrained his groans to passionless breathing in time with their vigorous and brutal fucking.

The friction would cause some chaffing and burning, but neither had consigned to a proper affair in this. They were fucking their vengeance and resentment of one another, even though neither could admit to hate. For it wasn't hatred. No, some fondness was still there, bastardized as it was–twisted and perverted by this implacable fantasy of Alucard's.

Alucard's hips thrust powerfully for one, final time as he climaxed–Integra's following suit shortly thereafter. His hips landed with an exhausted thud and Integra was still, hand numbly retracting from his neck with limpness. Swallowing thickly, she peered enigmatically at him through the blonde mane that had fallen over her features. A single hand raking it away, after a moment of recovery did she remove herself from the straddle and pulled Alucard's flaccid manhood from her.

Leaning against the precipice, the pregnant pause was long and drawn. Slowly, he sat up, staring distant and dumbly at the bookshelves lining her cavernous office and study. A handkerchief was used to wipe away the vicious substance still slinging to her inner thighs, Integra doing so methodically and with her back to Alucard. The curtains were drawn; no one had seen them. Another cigar was lit and she redid her suit as best she could in spite of the damage suffered.

The phone rang. Integra considered it dully before switching to speakerphone. Alucard removed himself from the desk; in a mere miasma of shadow was his clothing restored, all save for his duster. In strange and silent consideration did he reach for it, returning to his master's side to drape it upon her shoulders. But, she ignored him and the gesture.

"Katherine? Yes, send him upstairs to the second floor study in our usual meeting room. Bring a fresh suit and a small detail of maids to clean my office. When I am finished, I'll meet with the Archbishop shortly." A brief pause in lieu of a reply. "No, that won't be necessary." A click to denote its end.

The pregnant pause made for an awkward atmosphere, but Alucard appeared too spent to conceive an exchange. Yet, his head lifted when Integra finally regarded him. "Go. You're dismissed until I call on you again."

Alucard stared on, blankly, before he nodded his head in accession. Lips pursed and face neutral, almost blank. "Yes, my Master," he murmured before apparating into thin air once more.

 _ **…SHE MAY HAVE WON THE BATTLE, BUT NOT THE WAR.**_

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 **Last Thoughts** : In writing this, I think I ought explain my unusual take on how I write Alutegra. As much as I admire the genuine connection and profundity people have made this ship, in their mutual respect that is certainly an enormous focal point in the series, I've taken to them being a love-hate relationship even better. Why, you may ask? She's mortal, she's descended from the man who bound him to her bloodline, and maybe he wants his freedom. Maybe he doesn't want to die at her hand, but live in freedom and find someone else just as capable to slay him. ...Or go limping back to her because she was right all along and the only human capable and worthy of destroying him.

I just love them as a love-hate ship. I love the furious arguments, contests of power behind the scenes with honest respect and compliance to her before everyone else. Using desperation and hasty attempts of seduction to distract and derail Integra only to have her not only match him, but best him, in this brutal contest she knows she can't win. It's dangerous, it's awful and wonder, and visceral. And it's how I love my Alutegra in the morning.~

Credit: Cover art edited by me, originally **_Look at me, Integra by Telekinez_**.

 **~Peace, G.**


End file.
